


Bring Back What Once Was Mine

by vividdecadence



Category: One Piece
Genre: Ace cannot handle the heat, M/M, Slow Pace, graphic smut, possibly multi-chaptered?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vividdecadence/pseuds/vividdecadence
Summary: Portgas D. Ace lives, hidden away in the care of the Red-Hair Pirates. When an unexpected and incredibly unsettling but pleasant experience suddenly brings back memories of an old childhood friend, now grown and beautiful, Ace however starts to wonder if his exile truly is what he desires....
Relationships: Portgas D. Ace/Sabo
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

He beckons him closer; the previously outstretched arm pulled back ever so slightly, the index finger curled invitingly. There’s a smirk on his face, playful and seductive, and the blond curls fall into his face in just the right places to make him look angelical almost.   
He knows that face. He’s seen it in the papers before, sometimes hidden between the pages, sometimes prominently plastered on the very front – and perhaps he had spent some time clipping the pictures to safely store them in a box under his bunk. Now he’s here. Lying in that very same bunk with the box drawing a pale shape somewhere in the dark underneath him. 

The flicker of the oil lamp draws shades and patterns on the sun-kissed skin; scars and tiny freckles drawing stars and galaxies on his body, and that finger keeps on teasing and begging him at the same time.   
“Aw, no no,” he grins, shaking his head. “I told you what I want you to do.”   
“I know,” Sabo’s voice is a low purr. “I just want you to sit here. To see better.”   
The voice chases a shiver down his spine. Something buried in the back of his mind tells him that this is odd. Wrong almost; entirely impossible. Still, he sees him there. Nude and unashamed, a body he believes he’s touched a million times before but struggles to remember when or how.   
“Ace—”   
He knows that voice, too, but differently. Not like that; not as low and sultry as it sounds right now. And still he’s heard it in his head before, again and again. How could he resist stepping closer? 

Ace settles on the edge of the bunk, his own naked skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat already.  
“Do it,” childlike joy rings in his voice, a touch of a dare underlying every word he says, knowing Sabo would pick up on it. “I told you, I wanna see you pleasure yourself.”   
The smirk on Sabo’s lips grows a little wider. 

The first few strokes of his left hand wrapped around his cock are slow and lazy. Unmotivated almost, and in the scenery of dancing dust and the wooden heat here in the belly of a ship, the picture he paints is almost bohemian. Something that belongs on canvas, and that was painted on a hot summer evening after too many bottles of red wine. Ace’s eyes wander between Sabo’s face and that hand moving in his crotch, his thumb running over the tip, while those blue, heavy-lidded eyes never leave Ace’s face. A sigh echoes quietly through the room but no more than that just yet.   
“What, are you that spent already?”  
“Maybe.”   
He reaches out, fingers curled around Ace’s wrist no second later, and the Fire Fist can’t help but arch his brows. This is some trick. Something against the rules, surely, considering that the order is for Sabo to pleasure himself, but before Ace can protest, he feels the heated skin of Sabo’s chest under his fingertips. And is too mesmerized by what happens to speak up. 

With those fingers still wrapped around his hand, his fingers trail down the tanned skin. Across the chest, lower, lower, feeling the rippling muscle of Sabo’s stomach, lower, lower, and a little sideways across the inside of his thigh, never once touching his cock still being pumped with those agonizingly slow strokes. Ace isn’t the one feeling the touch but he, by now, would have gone crazy over that pace.   
“Sabo—”  
A twitch of his fingers is immediately punished by a strong squeeze of Sabo’s hand, that might almost be bone breaking. His muscles go soft, anticipation growing. The skin under his touch is velvety soft, the brush of those thighs enough for Ace to want to break free and go exploring on his own, but Sabo won’t let him. Cogs grind in his mind, trying to figure out what he’s planning, until it becomes painfully obvious when he feels Sabo curl three of his fingers into a fist, leaving only the index and middle one stiff – and no two seconds later, sudden heat engulfs his fingers, and a low moan rolls off Sabo’s tongue. 

Ace gasps. 

The grip around his hand is like a vice; his fingers slowly pumping in and out of his lover, and while his own muscles do not move an inch, he feels Sabo occasionally adjust the angle, steering those fingers to wherever he wants them to be. Soon enough he hits the spot, the heat around Ace’s fingers almost becoming unbearable, and the Whitebeard Pirate feels his own cock twitch.   
“Cheat.”  
“Why?” The look on Sabo’s face is an odd, arousing mixture of doe-eyed innocence and cruel seduction. “You never said I couldn’t use toys.” 

Toys.

Ace huffs a laugh, watches his fingers disappear in that gorgeous ass, first, second digit up to the knuckles, and Sabo’s moans ring in his ear like the most beautiful music imaginable. He moans his name. That little shit has the audacity to moan his name while fucking himself silly on Ace’s fingers.   
“Fuck”, a hiss coming from the raven-haired man, and he bites his cheek to resist the urge to just pull his fingers out and replace them with something much bigger, now throbbing painfully between his own legs.   
Sabo has adjusted the movement of Ace’s hand to the pace of his own fingers still wrapped around his cock. He arches his back, chin raised, exposing that long neck now, too, covered in a glistening, thin layer of sweat. The sight is almost unbearable, and Ace eventually relents to the urge to touch himself, too. To curl his free hand around his own cock, then, and to start pumping himself to the same rhythm that currently fucks Sabo into a state of bliss. 

“Ace—”   
“Shit.”

Teeth grit, he can’t pry his eyes away from the picture before him. He feels Sabo’s thighs tremble, the skin of his stomach growing taut. His breath now comes rapid and shallow, the moans echo loudly through the room, and Ace feels a familiar heat build up in his own crotch, feels the muscles in his abdomen tense painfully.  
“Shit. Sabo, I’m—”

Waking up. 

He opens his eyes with a start. Around him is nothing but the darkness of his room and the only sound is the creaking of the wooden boards holding this ship together. Ace blinks stupidly in the dark. What just happened?  
It takes a few seconds for him to notice that uncomfortable dampness a dream like that would leave in his pants, and he lowly cusses under his breath while peeling himself out of his spoiled underwear. He’d probably throw that into the sea sometime tomorrow. Better than to have someone find it like that. 

What. In. The. Hell. 

Blankly staring at the ceiling, he tries to process what had been the most arousing dream he’s ever had. Sabo. He knows he’s alive. He knows he hasn’t seen him since they had been children. He knows that Sabo believes he’s dead. Everybody does. And up until tonight, Ace had believed he could live with that; hidden away on the ship of the man who had carried his seemingly lifeless body off the battlefield at Marineford, and who then had built an empty grave next to that of the greatest man that had ever lived. He could have been content, hiding for a few years until time had washed over it all.   
But right now, here in the bunk that, in his dreams, had so vividly turned into the most pleasant place on earth, there’s a sudden desire growing in the pit of his stomach that he knows is no good at all. 

He needs to find him. No matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

There is a light sway to his steps; bare toes bracing themselves against the soft movement of waves. The sea around them occasionally is rippled by a low, warm gush of wind, but lies placid generally. With the sun peeking across the towering archipelago they have anchored at, it promises to become a hot, comfortable day.  
The previous night’s quiet is slowly filled with chatter. Dishes clatter, laughter bellows across deck, and he makes his way through the gathered pirates, stealing bits and pieces of breakfast from whomever while zigzagging through the commotion. Low protests follow him wherever he goes, and Ace grins. An almost childish attitude forbids him to even try and compare what he has now to what he had when Whitebeard still lived, but even he isn’t impudent enough to be ungrateful. Logic dictates that he should be dead right now. Instead he had, one night, woken up deep in the belly of the Red Hair Pirates’ ship, a healing hole in his torso. Truly, Ace isn’t ungrateful. And Shanks ain’t half bad either. 

“Morning!” The word is hollered across deck, and the captain looks up from a bowl full of porridge. The initial desire to reciprocate the greeting with his mouth full is quickly quenched by a single look to his left, where Ben Beckman sits buried behind the morning newspaper.   
Manners maketh men. Yadda, yadda.   
“Well, look who’s decided to join the world of the living.”  
Ace grins, the warm breeze softly tugging at his hair and the open hems of his shirt. A little more than two years and all that is left is a massive scar looking like a sunburst across his chest and abdomen; an eerily similar pattern on his back, starting just below his shoulder blades.   
He pulls out a chair, straddles it, and without bothering to ask, steals Beckman’s mug of disgustingly black coffee. Just a sip. Only one. Not for the taste, but for the effect.   
“Alright, this is gross,” pulling a face he puts the mug back on the table.   
“Ditto,” replies the newspaper, and nonchalantly ignores the Fire Fist sticking his tongue out.   
Shanks smirks.   
“I’m glad you two have this cute, little morning routine.”  
“You know what? Me too,” Ace chirps, nudging Ben with a naked foot under the table. “We should add to that, don’t you think?”  
“Sure,” the old man doesn’t bother to put the newspaper down. “How about we add throwing you overboard?”  
“Eh.” Ace scrunches up the freckled nose. “I was thinking more along the lines of you share the paper when you’re done with it.”  
“You can read?”  
Ben feels a halfhearted glare burn through the paper, but no actual flames. 

Almost dying had ripped most parts of the Mera Mera from his body.   
The realization, at first, had sent him into a flurry of panic and uncontrolled sobbing, screaming to get his powers back. When a new fruit had emerged, Ace had almost rushed off the ship, ignoring reason and concerns, until Yasopp had been kind enough to knock him out cold with the handle of his colt, and episodes of depression had gone hand in hand with determination to recover whatever kind of power might be left.  
Some is.  
It slumbers, somewhere buried in his chest, and occasionally he feels the heat rise and lets the small flames dance around his fingers, and up and down his arms. It’s not much anymore though. Enough to set the newspaper on fire, sure, but to burn down the entire ship, for example, would take a while. 

“Anything interesting in there?”   
Ace curiously glimpses at the paper, tilting the head far enough to be able to read at least a few headlines on the side turned to him. Shanks watches, shoveling porridge into his mouth.   
“Plenty.”   
“Anything about Luffy? There’s gotta be something about Luffy.”  
“Nothing about Luffy.”  
“What?!”  
“Nothing about Luffy.”  
“Marco?”  
“No.”   
“Izou?”  
“No.”  
“Sabo!”  
“A remarkable number of your friends’ names end on o, have you ever noticed?” Shanks asks around a spoonful of oats.  
“Nothing about Sabo, either.”   
Nothing about Sabo. 

Except, of course, for that image that had burned itself into his mind since the previous night. That image of a sweat-covered, toned chest heaving harshly. Those long, slender fingers idly curled around the base of his cock, stroking up and down so teasingly slow. Those big, blue eyes hazily looking right into his soul; a single look begging him for one thing and one thing only.

_Fuck me, Ace._

He blinks furiously and rubs at his brow with the ball of his hand. Were he on his own, his imagination running rampant wouldn’t be much of a big deal, but he believes that good ol’ stern Ben Beckman appreciated him sitting at the breakfast table with a raging boner in his pants.   
“What uhm – what about Dragon?”  
That has Ben look up from the paper for the first time, the sheets casually flipped over. Ace feels like a victim of parental scrutiny. Shanks, mom, about ready to ask if everything is alright, sweetie? and Ben, dad, without missing a beat, asking what it is he’s done now. He decides to tackle the glaring – literally – issue first.  
“You told me to keep up with what’s happening in the world, especially given my current situation.”  
“I did.”  
“I am.”  
“I didn’t expect you actually would.”  
Ouch. 

Swallowing his pride, Ace shifts closer to Ben. A move that elicits nothing but a raised brow in the old pirate, and a snicker in his captain. Shanks, mentally, seems to be filing this away under ‘appreciated morning entertainment’.   
“What if, and this is hypothetical of course, the Revolutionary Army was in on our secret?”  
Hand propped on his chin, Shanks now looks between Ben and Ace as if he were watching a particularly fascinating tennis match.   
“Why would they be?”  
“Well, this is a pretty rebellious move you’re pullin’ at the moment, right? Not just from the Marines but from everybody, basically. Keeping me hidden, I mean.”   
“And?”  
Even though Ben feels a strong urge to tell Ace that he’s not that special, he can’t get himself to lie. Roger’s son, whose alleged death had caused a massive ripple that had been felt all over the world. The day Portgas D. Ace had died everything had changed. He doesn’t want to imagine what might happen if they simply revealed him to the world again. Not yet, at least.   
“You can’t keep this secret to yourselves forever.”

Shanks and Ben exchange a look. It’s that kind of look happening between long-married couples; that look that says we communicate easily without actually saying a word. Vaguely, Ace remembers sharing that same look with Sabo when they had been children. And he wonders if they still could. 

_I know what you’re thinking.  
Take off your clothes.  
Hah! Exactly what I was thinking, too. _

Yeah, those bouts of daydreaming aren’t helping. 

“He’s not wrong, you know?” It is Shanks who breaks the silence, and Ace suddenly feels his heart pounding rapidly in his badly battered chest. Small miracle it’s still pounding at all.   
“Dragon is busy with things beyond the Marines and pirates,” Ben says.  
“Exactly. The revelation that Ace is alive might be less of a shock to him than it would be to most.”  
“And what is he supposed to do with that information?”  
“Utilize it.”  
“Utilize me!” Ace chimes in merrily. 

_Use me any way you like, brother._

Nope!

“You know he cannot stay here forever,” Shanks says, casually as ever. “Our rookies are figuring out that uncomfortable battles with the elderly are their only hope of every getting the glory they want. Someone will come for us sooner or later.”  
Ben shifts the glowing cigarillo from one corner of his mouth to the other.  
“Perhaps Ace shouldn’t be on this ship anymore when they do.”   
“So, you want to give him to Dragon?”  
“Why not?”  
“The man has enough on his plate already.”  
“The man also has a knack for collecting strays and putting them to use.”  
 _Sabo._

Grey eyes carefully watch Ace for a moment. He’s heard that Ben had been quite handsome in his youth, black hair and all, but frankly? The man sitting before him now, cigarillo between his lips, flecked spots of sunshine dancing on his face, and laden with the wisdom and experience of an old, brutal fighter, to Ace at least, is peak attractive. If Shanks weren’t there – yeah, he’d tap that.   
“Why Dragon?”  
Ace blinks.   
“He might think I’m useful. You know, in the future. I’m a notorious warrior against the terror of the government after all!”  
“Why Dragon?”  
Ace goes quiet, mentally cussing Ben out for being so damn perceptive. There is no lying to that man. He knows, he’s tried.   
“I wanna see my brother again. The one I _can_ see, at least.”

Again, a look between a captain and his first mate, and Shanks smiles that adorable little smile that says _come on, honey_. It’s the kind of smile that Ben cannot resist. The old man, disgruntled, surely, doesn’t say a word but merely flips the newspaper back up to ignore them both equally. Shanks grins.   
“Well, we better find the Revolutionary Army then.”   
The holler of ecstasy that follows startles some members of the crew enough to almost choke on their respective breakfasts; coughing, wheezing, and occasional calls of “Shut the fuck up, goddamnit it!” echoing across deck.   
“Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much, both of you! If there’s anything I can do--!”  
“There is, actually.” Ben’s voice from behind the paper, cool as ever.   
Ace stares at him expectantly.   
“Don’t throw your crusty underwear overboard again. There’s enough garbage in the sea as it is.”

Mean old man.


End file.
